


Ask Box Fic #4

by SaSaCo



Series: Ask Box Fics Archive [4]
Category: Three Days Grace (Band)
Genre: Angst, Archived From Tumblr, Archived From sasaco-fics Blog, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 17:56:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16917579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaSaCo/pseuds/SaSaCo
Summary: “And yet Brad still craved him, yearned for Neil’s love.” Written by anonymous.*Saved and posted to Ao3 as an archival piece. SaSaCo is not the writer. If you are the writer and would like this piece removed, please comment here or send us a message on Tumblr at sasaco-fics.





	Ask Box Fic #4

Just another busy day. Shit-faced crowds passed out near the stage, and the sober, the too young and too old ones, buzzing with excitement for the upcoming gig. Brad looked at Neil, frozen. The bassist managed to stare for just long enough, before he moved his attention to what Adam was doing. But maybe it was Neil’s eyes, pale skin, wild hair or the happy grin, it was just too perfect. Brad had always found himself gazing deeply at Neil, only to see that the younger never looked back at him.

Brad had always been there for him. The highs, the lows, the good, the bad. But Neil didn’t really seem to care. He never even thanked the bassist for anything he did for him. And yet Brad still craved him, yearned for Neil’s love. Brad’s whole being was focused on Neil, and Neil alone. Brad knew was only there to service him, trapped in a paralyzed prison near the amp, losing himself in the delirious beat. He couldn’t even embellish. Sometimes Brad didn’t understand why they needed him at all.

And Brad waited and waited, shouted cries of his wicked love to deaf ears. But he was always just there, Neil deaf to anything the bassist tried to say. And yet every time, Brad reached for him. Hopeful. And maybe it was the fact that those nimble fingers and mouth produced sounds Brad would never even dream of making. Beautiful melodies dismissed as ‘accidents’. Gloved hands and drumsticks and cockiness. The smell of sweat and the face of pure concentration.

And Brad knew for a fact that he wasn’t anything. Yes, him, Brad Walst, would never fully be appreciated by the younger, more talented, taller, blonder, nicer, fucker Neil Sanderson. He didn’t even know the other's name, just referred to him as…


End file.
